They were no different
by Rozon
Summary: A work in perspective. A matter of business and duty brings two travelers together. The same matter both separates and unites these travelers, but is anything ever that simple? Sometimes the world needs a second look, to make sure.


I do not own anything related to the Warcraft universe in a legally binding sense. 

This story was meant to be an exercise in perspective changes. These characters are my own creation, and are not specific characters from Warcraft. I did not design this to put emphasis on the actual characters, but more the different ways to view a character and in this case it is primarily Third person (limited and omniscient accordingly.) The breaks symbolize a slight changes in perspective, almost like one would view naturally with a camera changing angles or depth. Reviews are welcome, I hope you enjoy the story.

**They were no different.**

_Dearest Mariene,_

_Our travels through the lands of Azeroth have been long and arduous but we have finally settled near the mountains of Alterac to make camp. We plan on moving against the assassins in the area and will strike a blow for the true Alliance. This letter is being written to you in freezing cold, while we hide in one of the many caves along the sides of mountains. Their numbers are many, and ours may not be enough. I find that this may be the last letter I write to you, but I want you to know that I am prepared to give my life for the unity of the Alliance and for the good of my people. If I do not return to you, please raise…_

The letter ends there, torn across the bottom with speckles of blood replacing any signature. I found this letter weeks ago, lying in the fields of Hillsbrad. The Alliance was preparing some strategy to overtake the syndicate in the area. It appears they failed. This last goodbye is addressed to a Mariene but I will probably never know who that is or where she resides.

There is a loud cracking and popping as the beaten form of a man stands and looks about the forest. He straightens his robes and fixes his cowl. Finally, he raises from the ground a staff with a small red gem atop the shaft. The form sets forth through the forest once more, not stopping to break down any of the signs of his encampment here.

Another day of travel, maybe two and I'll be out of the forest. I can give this letter to someone more interested in finding its origin and what it means to us. This place was once home to so many, this land was vibrant and full of life. Now, it appears empty, gray, quiet, deathly quiet. There is only the sound of my foot falls as I press on through the trees.

The beaten form of a man walks down the long well-traveled trail of the forest. Though known to be unsafe, he continues at a fast clip bearing his staff in front of him and looking always towards the north. Light begins to fade in the forest, hidden behind the canopy of trees. In the distance a wolf howls and creatures of the night begin to make their way out into a new, darker more dangerous forest.

These animals hold no fear of me, and I them. They are seeking prey, and they can smell that I am not theirs to hunt. I can see in the distance the torches along the road; my waypoint should be close now. I can restock and prepare for the last leg of this trek.

The beaten form of a man approaches the light of a torch, his cowl shadowing his features from the eyes of onlookers. His heavy robe drapes his figure, making it indistinguishable from any other man's. The man looks around the gate towards figures huddled around fires and looking out into the night, torch light glints off his eyes and they glow yellow in the dark. He approaches through the cemetery to the figures standing around the fire.

"Hail, traveler. What business have you at the Sepulcher this night?" A wretched voice calls from the fires to the man.

"I come seeking supplies, repairs, and news." The man responds in kind.

"News? In Silverpine?" A deep voice calls out from the fires, sounding like wagon wheels rolling over gravel.

"No, not in Silverpine. From about. Where are your shopkeeps?"

"About? Do you believe they send word out here for traveler's such as yourself?" The wretched voice calls back, it appears to be coming from the corpse of a woman who sways gently on the edge of the fire.

"I believe they would send reports for travelers such as I; though not merely any traveler." The man moves his form towards the small cottage at the edge of the cemetery and keeps his eyes on the figures around the flame. Inside should be the merchants he seeks.

"So you are the traveling arcanist we were to watch for then?" gravel speaks up once more. Sounding more intrigued as he tries to move to view this oddity. "The death guards have been waiting with a letter for you. You can find them beneath the earth." He points a finger of bone towards the crypt at the head of the Sepulcher. "Dark Lady, watch over you."

"My thanks." The man moves inside the small cottage, and draws out his purse of coins. "I need fresh meat and travel bread."

"Right… Away." The sound comes from within the cottage, but only after the glowing yellow eyes open from the dark corner can any speaker be found. There is a loud thump, and another, and another, the sound of a limp limb being dragged across the floor. "We have a stock of wolf and bear meat, the hunters have been successful these last few days."

"Whatever this will get me." The man drops a handful of silver and copper coins on the table before him. He is handed a sack which smells of grave dirt and dried blood, it seems to float in the dark cottage.

"Thank you for your patronage."

Back into the night and moving towards the crypt the man makes his way past the figures around the flame once more. Their eyes follow him for an instant but they quickly look away. There are no more words to be shared with this stranger and no need for petty small talk. The man descends the crypt staircase and stands amid wrapped bodies and looks at bodies which may have been wrapped not long ago but now walk once more.

"I am here for my message."

"And you are..?"

"The traveling arcanist you are expecting. Death guard, do you have my message or not?"

"Very well, take this. Its contents are unknown to me, but the courier seemed to know you would be here in a few days and left it waiting in our hands."

"Thank you for keeping it safe." A quick motion with his finger and the letter's seal is broken. Wax crumbles to the ground and he unfolds the letter in the light of the glowing torches.

_ If you are reading this you have completed a small portion of your journey but it is far from over. You will know where to find me when you enter the great city of the sewers. I will be waiting for you with another message. Know there is a hefty reward to be had for following my instructions and that you need only tell no one of our deal to receive your due. Attached you will find but a meager part of what awaits you…_

Sealed to the bottom of the letter is a gold coin, thick and glinting in the torch light, matching the yellow glow of the eyes in the room. Another quick motion and the coin is freed and hidden beneath the robes of the man.

"Will you rest here?"

"No."

The figure of the man ascends the stairs and moves back towards the trail. The fading fire light at his back shows those around the flame watching his back for any sign at all, when he disappears into the night they continue to stare out into the night their eyes glowing with the fire and unwavering.

I have been to the Sepulcher only once before, and then my travels brought me there at the behest of a different apothecary. He offered a meager reward for my troubles and they sought to use me as an errand boy. I have since found that many of the apothecary's are far too wrapped up in their work to notice one or two missing bottles and ingredients. Those rewards turned out to be far better than those they freely gave.

The figure of the man moves on down the trail, leaving behind him the light of the torches and heading on to the forest's edge. Yellow eyes from beneath the cowl look out across the nightscape and find nothing overly adventurous stalking him. He steadies himself on his staff and opens the pack of meats. One chunk, still dripping with juices, is the first to go. The gnashing and tearing of the inhuman jaw is loud and sickening. It rends the fresh wolf meat apart, ribbons of it fall to the ground at his feet. The man looks around cautiously, knowing that his noise may not go unnoticed. Silence, emptiness, all quiet. A second chunk is devoured, this time with more care. Appetite has long since stopped with the drive of life but the hunger for flesh has not subsided from his aching mind.

I was once human, I remember Elywnn forest. Those trees were not unlike the trees I walk among now. They were larger though, more full of life, and I remember the bright sun shining on fruits and leaves. Here the forest is quiet and gray, always dim and haunting. My memories are faded away and the more I remember the less I believe it was anything but a dream. My life is meaningless now. I have travels and journeys to undertake unlike anything from those days. Now all that matters is unlife. I have been given strength, sight, drive, and power. If my form must be rotted and grayed like these trees, then so be it, Elywnn is but a lost dream to me.

The end of Silverpine, the figure of the man stands at the edge of trees and looks over his shoulder. There are no wolves about, nor other travelers. Everything is silent. This part of the journey should be fast, and with his gifts the man no longer requires rest. Another piece of flesh is consumed and then the figure is on the move once more. These roads are well traveled and lined with broken stone and paving. In the distance a walled city stands against the light of the moon.

There it is, my destination. The great ruin. I shall be finished with all this, and able to relax my mind before the day is out.

The figure of the man moves quicker now. His robes drag along the road, bringing up dust and creating a soft noise with each step. His cowl whips in the sudden wind and falls back behind his face. He stops and stands still as death. His free hand moves up to slowly replace the cowl and he looks around the road once more. He is moving slower now, and more cautiously.

My hand is wreathed in shadow. Its power drips from my fingers and my vision blurs as darkness obscures my sight. I whisper the words of power and I can feel the energy of the arcane surround my figure and encase it in unholy shielding.

A spell. The figure of the man has used a spell to guard himself against threats. It appears time may be running short. The time is now.

A glowing ball of flame congeals in the air, lighting up the night from off the side of the road. It flies forth and makes for the figure of the man. Quickly he turns and places his staff before him to guard his form. The flames burst and burn against his hands and the staff's gem glows a deep red as arcane energy is drawn into it. The broken man releases dripping balls of shadow into the night. They fly out in many directions striking trees, bushes, the ground, they scatter up debris and shatter what they encounter. The hidden figure rolls forward and crawls through the bushes on the side of the road. A ball of shadow splinters an old log near the figure, causing it to roll out into the road prone on the ground.

"You should have left me be, brigand."

"I'm no brigand, monster."

"So, you're Alliance? How fitting…"

"I'll slay you!" Another blast of flame comes from this human's hands and he begins to chant a second spell to follow the first.

The broken figure holds his staff forward and calls on the powers of shadow and flame alike to torture his foe. Suddenly the robes of the human are shrouded in flames and darkness creeps along his skin rupturing across his arms and crippling his hands.

"Foolish of you to believe you can strike me down so brazenly."

"Mon…Ster." The human struggles as his form sinks to the ground. The flames burn out slowly but the cancerous shadow is still crawling along his form. Blood begins to run down his arms and sizzles on the charred robes.

"Yes. I assume you were after this letter. It is unfortunate really, had you been only a few hours faster I would have handed it to you. Now, I'm afraid, I have to kill you."

"My. Father. Wrote that letter."

"I'm also afraid that I don't particularly care who wrote this letter. Only what I will get when I turn in its contents for evaluation to the apothecaries. Good bye, human. If you are strong enough, maybe you will awaken again and then we can discuss this matter as equals."

"No…" Blood foams at his mouth and his eyes stream tears of blood. "I would rather rot…"

"Weakness." With a quick motion another ball of shadow tears across the night and rips into the chest of the human. His ribs are broken by the force and his body sent flying to the side of the road.

Two dead men face one another in the road as the early morning sun begins to light the sky of Tirsifal Glade. Finally one of the dead men turns, straightens his robe, and begins walking towards the great ruin on the horizon. The other dead man's face is frozen forever in anger and regret.


End file.
